Several days had passed. Gillian was torn about what to do concerning Col. Tavington and his list. What he planned for them was against the rules of war, but how else was he to deal with the Colonials? She couldn't consult Molly; the woman was too close to Tavington, and would likely have her hanged. Gillian would have to act alone, and risk treason. She was a loyalist to be sure, but this was something she would not tolerate; still, Tavington was smart and quick; she couldn't risk taking the list while he was at camp. She would wait until he was out with his men.

Taking the opportunity one late night while the colonel was out on raids, Gillian snuck into his tent and went through his belongings for the list of men, along with their residences. She found it tucked in a pocket of trousers and pulled it out. Gillian's brow furrowed; the woman couldn't simply take the parchment; Tavington would notice, and as they had not been on good terms, she would be a viable suspect.

Leafing through more of his things, she fetched some parchment and a quill and made a copy of the list. Then, she tucked the copy away in her skirts and placed the original back in the pocket, setting the rest of his things to order. Looking outside to make sure no one was watching, Gillian slunk off into the darkness to her tent. There, she packed a satchel of provisions and laid out a heavy blue cloak before she retired to sleep.

Gillian left early the next morning with Gaia, traveling swiftly along earthen paths. Two nights later, she had made her destination: Pembroke. The town was known to support Benjamin Martin and his men. With the list, Gillian hoped for a peaceful welcome. Tying Gaia to a post near the church and allowed the mare to graze. The sudden thought that she had not planned who to give the list to crossed her mind and she bit her lip anxiously. The reverend was certainly trustworthy, but she hardly knew if he was home. After all, he was supposed to be fighting with Martin. She decided to seek him out, and if she didn't find him, she would give the list to one of the townspeople. His house was near the church and Gillian reluctantly made her way to it, palms clammy, the hair standing up on the back of her neck. She knocked twice at the door, looking nervously behind her shoulder.

The curtains were drawn on the windows, but as Gillian waited, someone peeked through and slowly opened the door. A man in his fifties, with short greying hair stood before her, staring at her skeptically.

"May I help you, Miss," he asked. "Do you travel alone?"

Gillian nodded and pulled out the list, pressing it into the reverend's hand as if it burned her to hold on to it. "Take this to Benjamin Martin. It is a list of his men; Colonel Tavington has plans to raid their homes."

The reverend paled and went silent for a moment.

"Good-good heavens. Thank you. I will see that this reaches him."

Gillian nodded. She had to trust him. If the slightest thing were to go awry, she would certainly meet Tavington's blade.

"Reverend, please, keep this quiet," she said, her voice quavering.

"Of course…"

She bade him good bye, murmuring, "Godspeed."

With that, Gillian found an inn to stay at for the evening and left the next morning for camp.

"Molly…" Tavington's voice was filled with lust as the camp follower rained feathery kisses across his chest, down his belly and over his hips.

"Hush," Molly smirked seductively, kissing him forcefully as she lowered herself onto him.

The colonel shuddered, his eyes white as he arched and thrust roughly into her. Molly paused wincing at his coarse treatment. On another night, she might have handled it, but she felt especially sensitive, and a touch nauseous. The feeling had been occurring off and on for a number of days.

"Gently… gently," she breathed, gripping his sides to steady her position, forcing herself to look him in the eyes.

William gave her a quizzical look but softened his thrusts, resting his hands on her thighs until he climaxed, releasing his seed within her. Molly lifted herself off of him and looked away, feeling dizzy.

Tavington pursed his lips in consternation.

"Molly…" he spoke, wrapping a blanket around her and pulling her to him; she still refused to meet his gaze. Impatiently, he turned her head to meet him.

"Molly, what is going on? What is wrong?"

"Nothing. I should not have come tonight. William, I'm not well." Molly spoke, her complexion flushed.

Tavington's eyes flashed threateningly but Molly shushed him.

"I just need to see a doctor. Loads of soldiers have fallen ill; I'm sure it is nothing."

"Very well. Get dressed and go to your tent. I will get a medic for you."

Molly gave him a timorous kiss, allowing him to hold her briefly before she dressed and returned to her tent while Tavington hailed a medic. Shortly after she had settled, a man about William's age, with black hair tied tightly back met her in her tent.

"You're Molly?" he asked.

The woman nodded.

"Your name, please," she spoke.

"Garret Fisher. Now, what seems to be troubling you?"

"There is no need to discuss things; I know what the issue is. Please, just tell the colonel you assessed my condition and that I will be on the mend."

Garret nodded.

"Very well," the medic held an air of disappointment but nodded politely before dismissing himself.

Molly pulled a blanket around her and hid under its folds. Her mind was swirling. She had only known for just over a month that she was carrying a child, and she was more than certain that Tavington was the father. He would never accept a child, let alone, a bastard. Her first intention was to leave the camp, but where would she go? A woman, alone and pregnant blackened her name, and Molly did not want that. She had considered abortion, but it would deeply shame and exploit her; not to mention, it was dangerous to say the least. Yet she could not expect to stay with William as his mistress or his wife.

Molly's stomach churned and she moaned, fetching some water. After a few swallows, she attempted to lie down and rest, falling into an uneasy sleep.